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They walked back the way they had come, hand in hand.
When they reached the battle site, black hearts and wraith corpses scattered all around, Torj looked up from where he was perched on a fallen log, surveying their damp clothes. ‘You fall in a river?’
Wilder couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Something like that.’
Thea released his hand as her sister nearly bowled her over. ‘You’re alright!’
Wilder watched as Thea returned Wren’s embrace. He was glad for them, glad that they had one another, that they’d moved past their differences. But as Wren placed Thea’s fate stone back around her neck, his gut tightened with unease.
Torj got to his feet with a groan. ‘We’ve got a castle to get to, if you’re done fucking each other’s brains out…’
Wilder’s blood roared at the mere thought of what he’d done to Thea in the hot spring. ‘For now,’ he told his friend.
The Bear Slayer shook his head. ‘Fucking insufferable.’
‘Are we finally leaving?’ Kipp asked, appearing from the bushes, Cal in tow with the horses. ‘I can’t stand the sight of these things.’ He gave a wraith corpse a nudge with his boot for emphasis.
‘If you finally found the horses, then we’refinallyleaving,’ Torj said.
‘You try finding six horses that have fled the scene of a wraith massacre,’ Kipp muttered.
Torj whistled, and his stallion trotted forth from behind the two Guardians. Wilder did the same, and Biscuit emerged from the brush and came to stand at his side.
‘Fucking Warswords…’ Kipp muttered, shaking his head.
Wilder mounted his stallion in a single smooth swing up from the stirrup. He wished he could have stayed in the hot spring with Thea. He wished that nothing else in the world existed for them. But darkness loomed on the horizon, and it was their duty to greet it.
Moments later, he was leading the party from the forest, towards Tver.
* * *
The golden stone castle of Notos glimmered in the final rays of sun as the yellow orb dipped below the horizon. The sky was streaked with soft hues of pink and lilac, gilding the sweeping hills in which the great structure was nestled.
They met no resistance, saw no inkling of shadow magic, but Wilder knew it was somewhere out there, lying in wait.
When they reached the gates, the guards in the watchtowers waved them through, the thick timber doors swinging inward, allowing them direct passage to the castle. The royal sigil of a rearing horse graced the banners dancing in the wind.
Wilder led the others through the outer perimeter of the grounds. It had been a long time since he had been in Tver’s capital, but it was unchanged. Still the sturdy, practical citadel it had always been, with none of the fanfare of Harenth, nor the unforgiving nature of Thezmarr.
When he reached the castle steps, he dismounted and handed his reins off to a waiting stable boy. Torj was already at his side doing the same, both of them moving with a renewed sense of urgency.
He and Torj guided the party inside the castle foyer, through to King Leiko’s hall. Inside it was warm, with fires blazing in the hearths, horses carved in stone around each fireplace. Rich tapestries hung from the walls in the Stallard royal colours of claret and bronze, while thick oak tables ran the length of the hall and timber beams reached across the vaulted ceiling.
‘Where is the rest of your army?’ King Leiko’s voice sounded from the throne atop the dais at the apex of the hall. Panic laced his words.
Wilder strode towards him, stopping at the foot of the stairs and bowing swiftly. ‘We came ahead of the Thezmarrian forces, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘Has no one else answered the call?’
King Leiko surveyed them critically. ‘Several units of Guardians arrived the day before last. They’re stationed at the edge of the citadel. I suppose you wish to see them?’
‘At once, if possible, Your Majesty,’ Torj replied, sketching a quick bow of his own.
The King of Tver craned his neck, trying to peer around the towering frames of the Warswords. ‘Who have you brought with you?’
Wilder shifted so King Leiko could see who stood in his shadow. ‘Our apprentices, and a master alchemist in training, sire.’
King Leiko grunted, not bothering to hide his disappointment – until his eyes landed on Thea. ‘You…’ he murmured. ‘You’re the girl who saved Artos at his own feast.’
Thea stepped forward, head held high, then gave a messy bow. ‘I am, Your Majesty. I’m now apprentice to Warsword Hawthorne.’
